


A Mess

by FandomTrash



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bittersweet, I live, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Main Focus: Percico, Minor Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Minor Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Multi, Random & Short, Short and Crappy, What else did you expect from me, What else is new, bad habits, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrash/pseuds/FandomTrash
Summary: “I think I love you,” He whispers.There's a long silence, Nico uncomprehending as he blinks down at the older boy.“I think I beat you to it,” Nico smiles.





	A Mess

It's a mess, really. _They're_ a mess, everything is a mess. Percy's okay with that. He's okay with that because gods forbid they be anything more than the status of **BARELY FUNCTIONAL**. Yeah, he's okay with that. It's fitting, an ironic twist to their perfect image, heroes of Olympus and the world saved twice by their hands.

They could ruin this world with a snap of their fingers, him and Nico. But they don't. Because that's 'wrong' and it's all just one big fucking mess.

Nico chews pens until the plastic splinters between his teeth, digs into his gums and his tongue starts bleeding. Percy drums his fingers on the table so fast, so hard that his nails start to file down and his fingertips go numb. They crack their knuckles periodically every few minutes, the gross, painful snapping of joints making everybody within the vicinity flinch. “How can you deal with that?” It's the need to move, to feel, to maybe break something and understand what pain is again. It's withdrawal from being forced into idle after years of hard work.

It's a mess, really. _They're_ a mess, everything is a mess. Nico's okay with that. He's okay with that because gods forbid there ever be a dull moment in their short, fast lives. They're only eighteen and nineteen now, legal adults, and _fuck they've made it this far now what?_ It's a good question. It's a mess.

Percy rubs at his eyes until they are red and water, eyelashes clumped and skin surrounding all blotchy. The green of his irises is always accentuated by the pink irritation, always such a vibrant, powerful feature. Nico chews his lips until they go raw and bleed, scabbing dark colors and forcing the perfect, cupid-bow shape of his mouth into perspective. “How can you deal with that?” It's the need to _feel feel feel_ and understand _why_ they're feeling it. It's not healthy, but they're a mess and they're okay with that.

Nico smokes and Percy drinks and it's all so fucking ironic that **IT ALL WENT DOWNHILL FROM THERE** doesn't even cover it. They're hurtling at dangerous speeds, the pair of them, a path of self-destruction and endangerment. But it's so good, the thrill is so irresistible, the rush of adrenaline is terrifying and gratifying all at once that they just _need_ to find where this downwards spiral ends.

So they do it together. It's fucking despicable and disgusting, in both their opinions, because Percy's got Annabeth and Nico's got Will, but they just don't understand the way him and Nico do. They feel hate furl angrily in their guts whenever something like this happens, but only afterward. In the moment, it doesn't matter, it feels good, it feels _right_ and that's all that matters. In the moment. Afterward is another story. One that neither of them are willing to acknowledge right now.

And yeah, okay, so maybe Percy's got his tongue down Nico's throat, trying to engrave the taste of himself into the backs of Nico's teeth. Maybe Will might taste Percy there, and the thrill that makes his heart squeeze pushes him to bite the other's tongue. Copper wells in his mouth and there's a quiet groan.

It's dark, right now. In Percy's cabin, it's always been horribly goddamn lonely, but Nico's here and Will's back home for the winter, Annabeth is in New Rome for a couple weeks and it's all downhill from there, they guess.

Then Nico grips a fistful of his hair, wrenches him back to bare his throat and _oh fuck._ Nico, little Nico in his lap with his coltish hips and elegantly long legs, subtle edges to him and sharp teeth. But instead of tearing apart his throat, the son of Hades nuzzles into him, purrs adorable and whispers, “Like it when you do that.” Percy's not entirely sure what he's referring to, but then he remembers when the sticky heat of Nico's bloody tongue laps at the junction of his neck. “Yeah,” He manages, “Yeah, I like it too.” They like a lot of things that their partners wouldn't approve of.

And, yeah, Percy knows that Nico isn't _as_ head-over-heels with him as he used to be, but it's still enough that it makes his heart do another painful stutter thing in his chest. He wheezes, forcing his head back up when Nico's hand slacks. Yeah, Nico still hurts for him. Aches, even, because Will doesn't fit that Percy-shaped hole. But the best thing? The best thing about that? Percy fits that hole. He fits it perfectly, even though he's grown some more and he's got more muscle now and his hair is shorter, but yeah. It's great.

It's great because Nico loves him in a way Annabeth never will and that's okay. Maybe he likes Nico like Nico likes him and who knows maybe when they wake up one morning from a rough fuck they'll realize this and voice it aloud. But for now, it's the swathed darkness of his cabin and the rustle of his shitty bedsheets that haven't been washed for at least two years now.

* * *

Annabeth natters on beside him; of New Rome, of the architecture and all those Athenian child factoids that Percy's never given a fuck about. He palms at his eye roughly, feeling the satisfactory irritation that comes with the action. He continues like that for a while, looking around the pavilion without much interest.

After another few minutes, there's a huff beside him. Soft, soft (too-soft,) hands come and move his own hand from his face, “You need to stop that, Seaweed Brain. You're going to rub your skin raw if you keep at it.” He can't help but think back to the the thick red lines torn down his back from a couple days ago, when he caught Nico out and wandering. Annabeth, surprisingly, is none the wiser. It's astounding.

“It's fine, Wise Girl,” He smirks, before moving to drum his fingers on the table. She gives him a disapproving look, before taking one of his hands and holding it in her lap. His entire arm tenses, the need to stretch and swing his arms about catching him tormented. Restraining, that's what she's doing, keeping him from being able to clock somebody in the face if he has to, if he has to stand up randomly and go do something. _He can't breathe like this._

So he turns away from her, tries to avoid the urge to tear his hand from her grip. She has such a gentle hold on him; kind hands, soft pads of her fingers and smooth palms, but it's so _wrong_ on his skin. **HE DOESN'T LIKE THE SOFTNESS ANYMORE**. He doesn't, gods he doesn't, he wants dirt-caked nails that make blood rise to the surface in angry welts, he wants the sensation of his scalp burning and tickling from the harsh tugs on his hair.

He doesn't want what Annabeth would like to give him. It's like receiving a christmas gift from somebody you care about, something you don't like, and having to grit a smile through it and take it anyway because you don't want to hurt their feelings. So Percy endures. He lets Annabeth soothe circles into his knuckles, talk some more and act as if there's some semblance of normality writhing under his flesh.

Across the pavilion, that's where Nico is. He's there, picking at unfulfulling salads and gross-looking dressing. He's painfully thin, but gods, he's so fucking pretty it's not fair. He wears those jeans so well; hugging his legs and accentuating the fact that he's pretty and dangerous and sharp and you could snap in him in half but like fuck is he letting you within arm's reach of him to do so. Unless you're family. Unless you're Will. _Unless you're Percy_ , but nobody needs to know that last one.

It's a physical strain to not sprint from his table and whisk Nico away. It's even worse when Solace strolls over and grins brightly at him, presses a kiss to his cheek that looks like it sears Nico's skin in the ugliest shades of yellow and orange. So when Nico meets Percy's eyes, in a fleeting moment, it's very hard to convince himself that Nico didn't hear his heart splinter at the interaction between him and his boyfriend.

“Percy, are you okay?” Annabeth hums, eyebrows pinched with concern. He only nods, flexes his fingers and grits his teeth, “I'm fine.” The blonde looks upset, earnest, “That's not what I asked.” Quite frankly, he doesn't give a fuck. Hasn't for a long time, everything's so still and over that nothing really moves him anymore.

But Nico. Gods, with that pretty face down at his waistline, fingers toying with the zipper on his fly, Percy wants to fall to his own knees and sing praises. She squeezes his hand, and for a second, Percy nearly _does_ snatch his hand away. “You never answer my questions anymore.” He doesn't have a response to that, so he rubs at his eye some more. This time, she doesn't try to stop him. Tears well up in his eyes from the agitation, and one slips down his cheek when he catches his nail on the cornea.

There's this unsettling urge to tell Annabeth that she wouldn't like what he had to answer, but keeps it to himself. There's only so much he can take, and Percy thinks he may have reached his limit of human-touch today. So, carefully, he moves his hand from her lap and takes a sip of his cola, “I don't have many answers, I think.” She gives him a perplexed look. Surprisingly, it's not the first time.

He finishes up, pecks Annabeth on the head and exits the pavilion. He makes it through the mess of faces and eager campers that want to talk to him, want to know what being a hero is like. The answers he gives them are all lies. There's no such thing as a **RIGHTEOUS VICTORY** , there's only pyrrhic, a hollow victory. Something that wasn't worth it, this feeling of weight added to your shoulders at what you've lost to get this far. But Percy doesn't tell the kids that. A morbid part of him decides they'll have to learn the hard way. It's only fair.

Upon arriving at his cabin, the steps creak under his weight and the door swings shut loudly behind him. There isn't the comforting presence of his father here anymore, it hasn't been there for years. If it was even there at all. He hums quietly, reclining into the pillows on his bed. Percy doesn't remember a time when he ever got a full night's sleep on this thing unless somebody was with him.

That's only started happening recently, with Annabeth's frequent visits to New Rome and Olympus. There's a scent ingrained into the sheets that Percy has dubbed 'Nico'. Metallic, coppery blood-like undertones to a rosy scent. Like the ground soaking up blood. There's some sort of poppy-field poem about that, after some sort of war back in the forties. Or was I the twenties? Some sort of English poppy poem that Percy doesn't remember.

The familiar, “Perce?” Comes from the door, hesitant boots scuffing at the threshold. He smiles, “Hey bud.” Nico steps into the cabin, coming to sit beside him on the bed. He doesn't lay down like Percy is doing. It's too dangerous with Annabeth at camp. But it's nice to have the son of Hades' company. Misery loves company, after all, and that's all Percy ever seems to be wallowing in anymore. “How you doing?” He shrug, moves a hand to squeeze the younger boy's thigh, “I'm okay. What about you?”

“Fine. You looked annoyed earlier. What happened?” Clever Nico, always turning it back on him. In lieu of answer, he pulls the boy into a hug and breathes into his messy hair. “Nothing. She's just...touchy today.” Percy receives nothing more than a hum, careful hands resting on his sides. Pulling away, Percy collapses back into the pillows, “What's Will up to?” Nico shrugs, “Teaching archery, I think. I don't know. Don't listen to him much, nowadays.” All he does it natter on about the infirmary. Not a good place, for either of them.

“Well, you're here now. Read me some poems?” That's a thing that Nico does. He reads, aloud or to himself, but he reads. Chuckling, Nico grabs the book resting on Percy's nightstand, and sidles to lean against him, “From where we left off?” Percy nods, situating himself to lean into his shoulder.

This could be what Percy lives for, he thinks. For this, for them, together. No tension, no difficulties. But that's a superficial ideal. Still, he can't help but think. Percy is in love with the idea of simplicity, the idea of waking up and seeing this pretty face, the idea of loving Nico. But he isn't _in love_ with Nico. Not yet. he's close, though, so very fucking close and it scares him because it isn't the way he loves Annabeth.

No, there's a passion to what they do behind their lovers' backs. It's this raw sort of mess. It's a mess, really. All just one big mess, from Percy's red-raw, watery eyes to Nico's scabbed, bloody tongue. Heads lost somewhere below the surface, bodies far beyond the clouds, it's all very distorted and messy. A mess. Barely functional, miserable, pathetic, love-starved messes. But there's a romance in that, Percy thinks.

He looks to Nico, who's reading him poems from some old time period where some of them still used _ye_ and _thou_ and all those other dreadful terms that don't make sense. Yeah, he thinks, yeah; he can learn to love Nico. He's already half the way there.

“I think I love you,” He whispers.

There's a long silence, Nico uncomprehending as he blinks down at the older boy. Then, voice like lowering a coffin into the ground and his eyes like the rotten, bleeding insides of something mauled and mutilated, he lets out a breath. “I think I beat you to it,” Nico smiles.

Yeah, Percy thinks, yeah; he could learn to love Nico. He's already half of the way there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *not dead (this would've been out on Thursday but i spent the 22nd and the rest of this weekend mourning the loss of MCR with my friends because they really needed support through this tough time) it's fucking 5 AM why am i alive


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